AN: Thanks everyone for continuing to read my story :-) And very grateful for the feedback of course! "Sylvia Elaine", you're not thick at all, LOL, so please don't apologize! About that vial...(is it "vial" or "phial"? I always get confused!)...In any case, you will soon find out...

Tanith


Chapter 35

With nothing else to go on at the docks, Mike and Irene decided to pay a visit to their informants before going to see what Bernie could tell them. After the sight and smell that greeted them from the decomposed victims, the two detectives felt it better to hold off on grabbing a quick bite to eat until their stomachs settled.

"I don't know how Bernie does it. You'd think I'd be used to it wouldn't you?" Mike quipped, his nose still wrinkled in disgust.

"I guess that's why he's in his job and we're in ours," Irene chuckled. "Give it another, oh, I don't know, twenty years?"

"Okay, now you're saying I look old?" Mike grumbled as they reached their cars.

"Oh, Mike!" Irene swatted Mike's arm playfully and giggled.

"You are, aren't you?"

"Don't be silly! Of course not! Now, come on, it's getting late," Irene said with a reassuring smile.

"Oh, no, Steve! He's probably been trying to reach me!" Mike suddenly realized it had been hours since they last saw his partner and had promised to pick him up.

"Why don't you head on over to the hospital? I'll meet you at Bernie's in, say, about an hour?" Irene suggested, checking her watch.

Mike signed, also looking down at his watch. "No, it's okay. What's another couple of hours gonna do but keep Steve out of trouble? I'll still meet you at Bernie's then I'll pick him up. If you, uh, I mean if you're up for it, maybe we could have dinner some place? Steve might come along, of course but..."

"Yeah, that'd be great. I don't think I'm in the mood to cook tonight," Irene agreed.

"Great! Alright, I'll see you later," Mike said, grinning broadly. "Oh, and Irene?"

"Hmm?"

"About what I said before at the office…I didn't mean to sound like…well, you know what I mean!" Mike stumbled over his words, trying to form an apology for the way he reacted to the news of his daughter's accommodation arrangements. Not that he was any happier about it but he knew it was unfair to take it out on Irene. Jeannie was her own person and he knew all too well from personal experience that when she had her mind set on something, there was no talking her out of it. He took a deep breath and continued in a rush, "I didn't mean to snap at you is what I'm trying to say."

Irene stepped closer to Mike, reached up and planted a soft kiss on the cheek. "I know. If you feel that badly, I'll even let you pick the restaurant tonight."

"You got it!" Mike chuckled with a wink.

The two bone-weary detectives parted ways, each feeling comforted that any broken fences between them were quickly mended.


Jeannie tried calling Mike's office for the second time but the phone rang out once again. Resigned to the fact that she was stuck at Whitney's place a little while longer, she set about serving two steaming bowls of her home-made chicken soup. She had not planned on dining with Whitney but it was going to feel awkward letting him dine alone while she sat by the phone. She contemplated on ringing Irene but she didn't feel it was right to keep badgering her for a ride and she also felt she owed her father an apology.

When Whitney's tall frame appeared at the doorway, she passed him the plate that his bowl was resting on. "Careful, it's hot," she cautioned. Having chopped some onions for the recipe, Jeannie was glad to be able to use that as an excuse for her red rimmed eyes, though she was still relieved Whitney refrained from commenting.

"This smells delicious! I've poured us something special to drink but we can wait until we finish our soup," Whitney said, walking over to the dining table.

"I think I'll pass. It's probably not an appropriate time to celebrate."

"Just a small toast of hope for us, that's all," Whitney pleaded. "Come on, what do you say?"

"Sure, just one toast," Jeannie relented with a sigh. What harm could it do, just a simple toast? Anything to pass the time.

Dinner was very subdued. Jeannie barely touched her soup and answered Whitney's desperate attempts of conversing mostly with non-committal replies or closed answers.

Whitney picked up his glass and raised it between them. "To our future, wherever it'll take us." He reached out across the table and placed his free hand over Jeannie's. "Though I'm still hoping you'll be in it."

Jeannie raised her glass as well, though with less enthusiasm. She watched Whitney take a long sip then emptied her glass. She wasn't a drinker but Whitney's words threatened to open the floodgates and the only thing she could do was take liberal sips of champagne to swallow down her pain and drown the sorrow that stabbed her heart.

With the painful ordeal of dining well and truly over, Jeannie cleared the table and washed the dishes while her former fiancé tried to lend a hand. Whitney made several more persistent attempts to engage her in a conversation but was yet again unsuccessful. Finally, she excused herself to use the phone once more. This time, Jeannie prayed with all her heart that her father would answer. She felt guilty and miserable for hanging up on him earlier and hoped she hadn't hurt his feelings so much that he was deliberately avoiding her calls. Her head started to ache in tune with her heart but she ignored it and picked up the receiver from its cradle. Dialling Mike's office number, Jeannie felt a sudden wave of dizziness wash over her and her vision started to blur. The pounding of her heart filled her ears and her legs began to feel like jelly. The receiver fell from her trembling fingers and she tried to tell her feet to walk over to the chair in front of her but there were now two chairs, then four blurred shapes wavering in her line of vision. In a rising panic, she called out Whitney's name breathlessly.

Strong arms caught Jeannie just before she collapsed. Fighting to remain conscious, Jeannie gripped the folds of Whitney's shirt, almost tearing the material. In desperate gasps she pleaded weakly, "I...I don't feel so well...Whitney...call...please call Mike! Please call…please..."

"Sshh, it's gonna be okay. I'll take of you, Princess. I promise," Whitney said in a soothing voice, brushing the loose strands of Jeannie's hair off her face. "In sickness and in health. Till death do us part, remember?"

The last thing Jeannie remembered was being lifted and carried in Whitney's arms before she was consumed by a dark abyss.